Chapter Text
Dwalin stared. Outright, openly stared.
He knew it was rude, and his mother had taught him better, but he couldn’t help it. Truly, he had been staring since Thorin answered the door when he went to visit his friend and shield brother. He didn’t stare at Thorin, oh no. He stared at the child he had in his care.
It was a hobbit, Thorin had said. A young one that he had found in the woods when he went scavenging for Kíli’s arrows. A boy who needed healing, and in more ways than just the physical ones.
The hobbit, Bilbo, was rather timid. Shy, even. Dwalin had only glanced at those big green eyes for only seconds before they ducked away to hide in Thorin’s tunic.
He had no idea why Thorin was keeping him around. He knew Thorin’s patience and how thin it was, particularly with outsiders. Yes, he had a soft spot for children, but he had his limits. It seemed, however, that Bilbo Baggins was the exception. For Thorin only smiled at him when he had chatted with them when really Dwalin was there to talk business. Only chortled when Bilbo inadvertently made a rather large mess. Surely, after having the child be a constant presence in his life, Thorin would be at his wit’s end. But he wasn’t. In fact, he was happy to have the child’s attentions. It was as if the hobbit was Thorin’s own.
Now, Dwalin could see why he was called over. Thorin, the scoundrel, had tricked him. His “business talk” had turned into a request for Dwalin’s babysitting services whilst he would be away in a week’s time. Apparently, he didn’t want Bilbo to leave him, and he certainly didn’t want to drag the poor boy off to find work in other villages. That, and with his sister’s hands full with her own children who acted even younger than Bilbo’s own age, he turned to Dwalin.
Currently, he was being put through a trial, watching the boy as he played outside whilst Thorin made dinner (his cooking skills had improved immensely since he took Bilbo in, or at least that was what Dwalin had smelled).
He hated babysitting. He liked children, that wasn’t the problem. But having to be forced to watch over them for an extended period of time found to be terribly detrimental to his health. Thorin’s “precious” nephews taught him that. He was bald for a reason, after all.
But it was strange, for Bilbo wasn’t running around, screaming, like his head had been cut off. Instead, he just sat in the grass, a small smile on his tiny face as he handled a large bundle of flowers, twisting and tying the strands to create a chain of some sorts.
It was almost as if the child himself had no idea what to do in their situation.
Dwalin frowned, for children weren’t meant to just sit like this. Not all the time, at least. They were meant to run and be free. To feel free. He was a child himself, once, as Balin loved to remind him. But he had a feeling this was why Thorin wanted Dwalin to go through with this trial. To see if he could bring the boy out of his shell just as easily as he could, especially if Thorin wouldn’t be around.
Working up a little courage, Dwalin eventually walked over and sat some distance away from Bilbo, causing the child to look at him with those eyes before quickly turning back to what he was doing.
“So…” He muttered. “What are you making?”
Bilbo seemed to fidget, glancing shyly towards him. “Flower chains.”
“Flower chains?” He parroted, and the boy nodded quickly.
“Just… tying flowers together.” He muttered. “I’m trying to make it long enough for a crown.”
“That seems… nice.” Dwalin answered. “It looks nice, anyway.”
A small smile flickered on his face. “Th-Thank you.”
Dwalin grinned as well, watching Bilbo work a little while longer before he decided to ask, “Can you teach me?”
Bilbo blinked up at him. For a moment, Dwalin worried that he scared the poor boy. Instead, he sent him another small smile. “O-Okay.”
xxx
Thorin stood by the table, set with plates, utensils, and most importantly, food that at least looked edible. He had gotten better at it over the years, and worked harder at it since he took Bilbo in, so he had some faith in himself and his sister’s detailed instructions.
He just hoped his sister didn’t mess up anything on her end, or he’d be screwed.
Satisfied, he headed for the back door, prepared to call the two over to eat (he was making Dwalin watch Bilbo, so he had to at least feed his friend). Just as he was about to open the door, he froze.
Dwalin was sitting on the ground with Bilbo, a wreath of flowers on his head as the young hobbit seemed to be instructing him on making one of his own. He never thought he would see Dwalin wearing flowers, let alone working with them, but the most surprising part of it all was that Bilbo was instructing Dwalin in said dwarf’s lap, looking completely comfortable with his situation.
Thorin was nothing short of impressed. It had taken him weeks before Bilbo felt comfortable with being hugged or picked up without always tensing or flinching away. Yet Dwalin had the boy in his lap in just a couple of short hours. And Bilbo seemed happy, looking not at all forced to be in such a position.
He felt a little jealous, because Bilbo had trusted Dwalin easily enough for such an act, and yet it had taken ages for him to reach that level himself. He wondered if Bilbo liked Dwalin more. That he would want to live with him instead.
Before he could glare to heavily through the window, though, he paused for thought. He wondered if Bilbo trusted Dwalin because Thorin trusted him. Or that he got used to the idea that dwarrows were not cruel like his relatives were, and started to trust others more quickly and easily.
He knew it was foolish to think such things, but Bilbo was his boy. His little flint that he found and took in. The little fauntling that, he hoped, would be a part of his family for the rest of his days.
In the end, he was just glad that Bilbo was smiling and at peace in his friend’s lap.
Even so, he felt no shame whatsoever with breaking their reverie and calling them in.
Bilbo was Thorin’s boy, after all. Dwalin could easily get his own.